The Letter of His Oaths
by Dobraine
Summary: In this short story, I explore the character of Dobraine. I have long been intrigued by him. He is one of the few lords that Rand al'Thor seems to trust. And we are given absolutely no reason for this trust. Except for the indexed definition of his character in the back of The Fires of Heaven, that is, a man who believes in the letter of his oaths.
1. Chapter 1

Lord Dobraine Taborwin deplored Chop, in fact, he deplored any game of chance, and might well have been said to deplore games in general. Yet, he sat within his chambers in the Sun Palace, playing a ridiculous card game with one man he hated, one man he didn't trust, and one man he barely knew. And he was here, at the behest of yet another man he barely knew, and yet had sworn his sword, and the swords of his entire House.

Rand al'Thor was away again, had left two nights previous, probably to Andor this time, though the man was hardly forthcoming about his plans. And, as usual, he'd left instructions with Dobraine and the Lady Berelain. Some of those instructions were to watch men like these.

Lord Tedosian, a High Lord of Tear, sat to his right at the small lapis inlaid table, the man was sweating profusely. He had no head for gambling, and even less head for the unseasonable heat. He was the man he barely trusted. The fellow had fought willingly enough against the Shaido, and he wasn't one of those Lords who let others do their dirty work. Yet, he was a plotter, and while Dobraine himself was Cairhienien, and thus had Daes Dae'mar, the Great Game, in his blood, he still could not abide the man. What he sought to gain was why Dobraine was sharing a carafe of strong Tarabon Brown Rum with the man in the first place. The other man across from him was his fellow countryman, Tormund Delovinde, youngest brother of a certain Lord Talmanes. The man was really a boy, not much younger than the Dragon himself, but young enough to be enjoying his rum far too much. But the Dragon had wanted the boy watched, to be certain his elder brother was fitting company for his boyhood friend, the mysterious and laconic Matrim Cauthon. While Talmanes had a reputation as a soldier, and Dobraine had crossed swords with him during the Civil War, the younger brother was a bit of a mystery, having just returned from squiring with a House Carand, in Andor. Dobraine had never met the man before asking him to his chambers.

The man he despised was Lord Semaradrid. Taborwin had actively fought against House Riatin's claims to the Sun Throne, and had thrown its support behind Damodred, despite its unfortunate reputation. After all, an oath was an oath, and he had sworn an oath to King Galldrian, before the idiot went and gotten himself assassinated. House Maravin and Riatin were tied by a half dozen marriages over two hundred years, but it had been his support of Toram that made Semaradrid such a dangerous man. Though he could not tell Rand al'Thor precisely why, Dobraine believed him to be an oath breaker and a traitor.

"Ha! Chop! I said Chop!" Exhorted Tedosian, slightly slurring his words. The man was a lush, and it was remarkable that his liver even functioned at all with the amount of punishment it had received. Just one of the reasons the game of Chop was ludicrous, was because a winning hand was announced with just such an exclamation, and a downward motion with a stiff hand. Of course, Dobraine's neatly piled Cairhienien gold crowns, shook and nearly spilled from Tedosian's effort.

"Bloody hell," uttered the young Tormund, his eyes bleary, staring at his cards.

Semaradrid looked at Dobraine curiously, waiting for him to show his hand. The man had not come willingly, only Tedosian was of his rank here, and Tedosian was of a foreign land, not fit company for a man who earnestly believed he would be crowned King of Cairhien.

"Well, Dobraine? Will you show your hand? Or perhaps you're afraid we'd see the heron tattoo you've had inscribed there?"

It had been like this all night, barbs and digs from the man, from Tedosian as well, for all his own pledges of loyalty. Tormund guffawed.

"It's true then? The Dragon Reborn has birds tattooed on both his hands?" The boy asked.

Dobraine looked sharply at Semaradrid but spoke carefully. "The Dragon is a blademaster, and the Heron's on his palms were burned there." Dobraine laid out his hand, three kings, a prophet, and a councillor. Tormund sighed and laid his hand down, pushing three gold coins over to Tedosian, who laughed and gathered them. Semaradrid, looking at Dobraine, smiled the smile of a cold hearted killer, his cards, four kings, one of which was the High King, and the last, the Crystal Sword, defeated Dobraine's hand. Dobraine pushed two coins to Semaradrid, who then pushed them to Tedosian.

"The Crystal Sword, an interesting addition to the deck. And, a hard card to win. Given that you're firmly lodged up the Dragon's ass, I figured you'd be the first to play it." Semaradrid drawled, testing.

Tedosian laughed, "Hardly Semaradrid, Dobraine here is fit to clean the man's sword, dress him too, I'd wager."

Dobraine stared at Semaradrid, his deep set eyes searching. Semaradrid had virtually ignored his sallies into sensitive areas all night, preferring to bait the Lord of House Taborwin.

"Have you seen the Crystal Sword Tedosian? I've never been to Tear, they say only the High Lords can see it."

The boy had been Dobraine's only success for the night. He was feckless, and fairly innocent. His relationship with his eldest brother, one of undisguised admiration. And, as anyone associated with this so called Band of the Red Hand, devoted to Matrim Cauthon. Semaradrid had been very curious about the young man, carefully asking questions of the young Tormund, who was just pleased to be recognized by so high a lord as Semaradrid.

As for Tedosian, the man had arrived drunk, and his manservant would likely have to call a cart to get him back to his rent-a-palace.

"That sword, boy, for thousands of years, it was the center piece of the Great Hall of the Stone. Fitting decoration for the High Lords. And where it should have stayed."

Finally, Dobraine spoke, "but it did not, Tedosian, it did not. It was drawn as it had to have been, fulfilling hundreds of pages of prophecy. And the man who pulled it is your liege lord. Yours too, Semaradrid." He stood up and gathered the remaining coins in front of him. "Gentlemen, I must retire for the eve."

On those words, Morganfleed, his butler, opened the door to the servant's chamber, a small, almost invisible door. Four servants swept out, Semaradrid's and Tedosian's going to their respective lords.

"It's early!" Protested the young Delovinde.

"Right you are," slurred Tedosian, "why don't you come with me, you can regale me with tales of my son's bravery in this Band of the Red Shmand you're so proud of. Semaradrid, will you join us?"

"I think not, the Lord Dragon intends me to marshal his forces for the March to Illian, and I must prepare. Much glory there, eh Dobraine? Too bad you're trapped here playing head butler."

Dobraine ignored the sally, as he had ignored all the previous ones. Anyone who had been at Dumai's Wells would not be so blithe about tales of obtaining glory in the service of the Lord Dragon.

"Indeed, you have much to accomplish, keeping the High Lord Weiramon from boring you to death. I believe he is in command, yes?"

That satisfactorily wiped the smile from Semaradrid's face, while producing a guffaw from Tedosian. No one liked that pompous ass, Lord Weiramon. Moreover, the reminder, that the fool was in charge of the army, was an excellent swipe at Semaradrid.

Eventually, the men left, leaving Dobraine and Morganfleed alone in the drawing room.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Morganfleed?"

"Sir, you wish to retire for the night?"

Though the Lord hadn't drank as much rum as the other men, he felt an ache, an ache he'd felt since Dumai's Wells. And thoughts of what he'd seen there were always sobering. The new warfare. He sighed.

"No, set up my writing chamber, with fresh vellum, ink, and some Two Rivers tabac. Some tea as well, I think. The Red Bird Leaf, from Arad Doman."

The butler bowed and started calling for various servants. Lord Dobraine was not a man for light games, indeed, at his estates, he likely would have stayed up regardless. But his duties were pressing, and the Lord Dragon would expect a full report when he returned, two days, or two months from now.


	2. Chapter 2

"Milord, Lady Betwyr, and the wee miss have arrived in the city. A messenger just arrived. Will they be staying in the Sun Palace? Or in Greenweir Downs?"

Greenweir Downs was the Taborwin Palace in Cairhien. Though their lands began some miles from the city, all the great noble houses maintained a palace or manor in the capital. Since Rand al'Thor had plopped managing the day-to-day affairs of the entire nation in his lap, he'd taken an extensive series of rooms in the Sun Palace. He barely ever got to visit Greenweir Downs at all. He thought for a moment. Both Lady Betwyr and he would be more comfortable with her staying at the manor, but he hadn't seen his daughter since before Dumai's Wells, and despite the danger of bringing her to the palace, he missed her terribly. At the very least, his lady wife would appreciate holding court in no less than the Sun Palace.

He answered Morganfleed to that effect, and issued a variety of instructions to see to their comfort. He also requested the presence of the captain of his household guard, Vintner Fleck. Fleck's skin was tan in spite of his Cairhienien roots, and the top of head was shaved and powdered. He wore three stars on his lapel, as befitting his rank.

The Sun Palace was never a truly safe place. He understood that the Royal Palace in Caemlyn had been a place of relative safety before Morgase's untimely demise, but the level of intrigue in Cairhien insured that no palace but one's own was ultimately safe. Of course, all of Caemlyn's vaunted safety hadn't helped old Queen Morgase in the end, so he asked Vintner to double the rotations, and hire a taster to sample his daughter's food.

He felt a strange elation as the coach approached the palace. Strange in that he loved his daughter Leah more than anything in the world, his wife, on the other hand, the Lady Betwyr had been a virtual stranger these past few years, and since the liberation of Cairhien, things had only deteriorated.

After what seemed an eternity, he stood with Vintner, Morganfleed, and a full complement of loyal guards at the Palace's North Gate. He recognized the coach as it came down the street, flying the double diamonds on the blue field, the insignia of his House. Four white horses drew it forward, and four guards trotted alongside, while two men with bows hung off the dickey box. The driver sat on the perch with a wound crossbow propped up against his seat. Good, all at his orders. Even now the lands surrounding the city weren't entirely safe.

Before the carriage had rumbled to a halt, the door burst open, and a flurry of white and blue skirts launched out the double doors of the coach.

"Papa, papa! We can really stay at the Palace? How gay! I've missed you so much, oh papa!"

Morganfleed, Vintner and the rest of the men flanked Dobraine and Leah, while a few servants ran to assist the Lady Betwyr. Others began to withdraw luggage from the coach. Within the array of liveried steel, Dobraine let a smile crack his iron visage. His daughter had just passed her 11th naming day. He would soon have to give her away, but for now she was still his, the only fruit of two failed marriages.

"My dear sunflower, the entire palace is at your disposal. We've all missed you, Morganfleed has been an utter wreck."

If Dobraine was known for showing about as much emotion as a slate board, Morganfleed made a slate board seem a colourful puppet show like those seen down at the Foregate. The man had emerged from the womb, gray at the temples and severe.

She shrieked and leapt into the Butler's unsurprised arms, he caught her adroitly and spun her around.

"Lady Leah, Madam Heath and I have been up to our necks in tarts and candies with no one to eat them. I feared we might have to give them away! Madam Heath will be ecstatic to see you." Leah cooed and gasped appropriately. Then her attention was back on her father.

"Papa, will there be a ball? Will I get to see the Lord Dragon? Where are the Aiel, you told me I could see Aiel again. Oh!"

The little girl grew suddenly shy, as a vision of loveliness swept from the entrance into the steel cordon of House Taborwin guards. The Lady Berelain beamed at the little girl.

"I see a naughty little girl, who has been away too long!"

It was odd to see the Lady Berelain playing Peek and Seek with a child. The woman was such a beauty that nearly all the palace's female denizens scowled in her presence, but she had a light touch with children, and they flocked to her.

"Look, Little Leah, I've brought you something! Remember how when you were last here, you saw the Dragon from the inner balcony, but you couldn't see the court? Here!"

She pulled out a miniscule lacquered box, depicting the "coronation" of the Lord Dragon, after the siege of Cairhien, when the Dragon had ignored the parade that Lord Meilan had arranged from him, and came into the city, surrounded by a phalanx of Maidens. The box was about as big as Berelain's closed fist enough for some small items of jewelry. On the box, you could clearly see the tall red haired man, leaning on black plinth, while lords and ladies lined up to kiss his ring and say the oaths of fealty. Those words had taken Dobraine's entire life over. A fitting gift for his daughter. His own gift was a small notebook he had procured from the School of Cairhien, one of the researchers had pressed the notebook into his hands, requesting his urgent attention. He had perused it but had understood little, nonetheless, it had lots of interesting diagrams and mathematical equations, cramped handwriting. He knew his daughter well, and she absolutely melted when she saw it. His going away gift was from the school as well, he would have to remember to hide it before she had a chance to examine his apartments.

Berelain flashed a grin at him, and he stared back. He had no smiles for the Lady Berelain. She was an effective ruler, and he had gained much respect for her, but he had no time for women, and, at any rate, they had never caused him much but pain.

It was just as well, because as Leah and Berelain skipped toward the entrance, with the guards forming up around them, the Lady Betwyr was left standing with her maids.

"My lord." She said, somehow managing to instil a chill into something as simple as a curtsy.

"Lady," he inclined his head, "may I escort you to our rooms?"

She merely nodded and took his arm, her gown, green and gold, sweeping the marble steps. He sighed heavily. Leah was the merry blizzard, and gone too soon, leaving nothing but the frost that was her mother. They entered the palace, and were in the Great Hall, really one of many, but this with two enormous staircases sweeping out to either side and several gigantic candelabras gracing the vaulted ceiling.

"It's so good to be back in the palace. My dear husband, I don't believe I've been here since Barthanes's last ball."

That had been a night to remember, with the illuminators chapter house nearly immolating the city. The King had been assassinated soon after. But Dobraine would remember it as a night he spent in a broom closet with Betwyr arguing fiercely for hours. He sighed again. They'd at least shared a bed then, though not happily.

"Betwyr. Would you prefer to be at Greenweir Downs? I only thought—"

"Of course, whatever my Lord husband thought is sufficient."

"Betwyr, please..."

"I said it was good to be back," she said heatedly, the chill finally breaking, "don't make a scene."

They swept along the hallways silently, past servants, Gai'shain, nobles, and the odd Hunter for the Horn. Occasionally he could hear the chatter of his little girl up ahead, and the silvery laughter of Lady Berelain.

"Why is she here?" His wife finally said.

"She rules beside me when the Lord Dragon is away," Dobraine replied, a shrug in his voice. He instantly regretted his choice of words.

"I see."

"She takes care of matters relating to the palace, the Sea Folk, and the Aes Sedai, and deals directly with the Wise Ones out in the camps. She also serves as a liaison with many lords and ladies—"

"I bet she liaises quite a bit."

"She's good at her job. What do you care Betwyr? If she's bedding me or the entire palace." He growled, out of patience. He was surprised to see a look of hurt flash across her face, instantly replaced by rage, instantly replaced by an utterly blank face. He almost regretted his choice of words, he had thought they were too far gone for such swipes to matter. He sighed heavily and changed the subject, inquiring on her plans.

"Lord Orliss, my cousin on the Dagenred side," to which Dobraine nodded, "I understand he's in the city. We spent some summers together in his father's orchards north of the Gaelin, in the foothills of the Dagger. I expect to see him. The Lady Airlyn has invited me to her palace. Leah wants to see this School of Cairhien, it seems like utter hogwash, but you know how she is. There is a production of the Death of Princess Walishen at the Opera House, I was hoping to see, and -"

He tuned out the rest, smiling faintly. Leah did indeed enjoy Rand al'Thor's gift to humanity, his quixotic "school" greatly. If women could be engineers, his Lady Leah would no doubt be a resident in what was Barthanes old Palace.

"and you know how close she was to Colavaere, that poor woman." What his lady wife had been saying suddenly percolated through to him. He wondered if she mentioned Colavaere to torment him. Betwyr and she had not been close, barely aware of one another, but some of her circle had been Saighan vassals and supporters, and would have spoken about her frequently.

"What about Colavaere?" He demanded

The lady looked at him, clearly he'd stopped listening. "Yes, well hanging oneself after being disgraced and disowned is a traumatic experience dear. Particularly for the family. You'd know that if you weren't so wrapped up in this Dragonsworn business. And what has House Taborwin gained recently from this 'association?'"

She was out for blood. And so soon! The two things that she rankled him most about, failing to secure Lady Colavaere's life, and his oaths to the Dragon Reborn. Having his full attention now, she continued.

"On my way here, I saw the most outrageous thing. A guildmaster was being whipped publicly in Riatin Square. Apparently, he'd been seen beating the novices that worked under him. When I stopped the coach to inquire, they said he'd also neglected to pay his journeymen at the guild rate. Can you imagine? A guildmaster is almost the equal to a Captain General! Now, I could care less about the unlanded, but this al'Thor is a peasant! I swear, I don't know what is happening to this place. Everything is changing."

That at least, Dobraine could agree with, "Indeed."

"As if a novice were the equal of a guildmaster! A man who worked his whole life, obtained rank and status, and subject to a public whipping for disciplining his own pupils!'

"It's the law, Betwyr."

"You and your law. What about solidarity?"

"The law is solidarity."

"You're impossible. You're a laughingstock, you know that? You've made me a laughingstock." He began to respond, and she made a sharp gesture, Leah was skipping back down the corridor toward them. They disagreed on a lot of things, but Lady Betwyr was a better mum than most. And she certainly was a better parent than he.

"Mummy, mummy, Lady Berelain says there are Aes Sedai in the city! Can we go see an Aes Sedai?"

"Now, now child, an Aes Sedai isn't an animal on display at a menagerie, they are important women, and they don't have the time for little girls!"

"Please, mommy! She says one is staying at an inn called Night Swan"

Berelain followed Leah back down the hallway, laughing in her rich alto, "That's Night of the Swan." Dobraine's apartments were at the top of the Tower of the Crescent Moon, and they were now at the doors that marked the entrance. "Lady Betwyr, I understand you intend to hear the Death of Princess Walishen? Don't bother, Claudia Van Hedric is absolutely dreadful. It's nothing compared to the Mayanese Opera."

Betwyr stared at her icily, but Berelain ignored the stare, her eyes twinkling. "Oh, they have an Opera House in Mayene, I thought the country was too poor for such an expensive entertainment."

Berelain's eyes flashed, but Dobraine had had enough. "My lady, my wife and daughter have had a trying trip from the countryside. I'll see you after dinner, to catch up on affairs." Dobraine winced again, he was not winning hearts and minds with his word choices.

"Of course," said Berelain, excusing herself.

"I don't want you working with that woman," said Betwyr, watching Berelain's perfectly formed backside diminish down the hallway.

"It's not my choice, Betwyr. The Lord Dragon said—"

With Berelain barely out of sight, she launched an irate tirade, "The Lord Dragon this, the Lord Dragon that, you're Cairhienien, a lord of the highest pedigree. If he won't grant you the crown, than why are you here at all?"

"Careful!" Growled Dobraine, pushing her through the entrance way into their rooms and away from prying ears.

"Don't touch me!" She swept into their rooms, Leah following quietly.

Instead of following, he closed the door, and motioned to Vintner trailing behind them to assign the household guard. It was a conversation he didn't want to have, not with her, not with anyone. It was something he thought about constantly. As usual these days, it was a warm, and he thought he'd take a walk to clear his head and let his wife freshen up in peace. He decided to climb the Tower of the Rising Sun, it was good exercise, and the view from that Topless Tower was spectacular.

Dobraine was neither a religious man, nor a superstitious one. He didn't believe in Trollocs and Halfmen, though he suspected they'd been real enough during the Trolloc Wars. He didn't believe in the approaching end of the world, or in the Breaking itself. The world was what it was, no more no less. And when over a hundred thousand Aiel savages had poured out of the Jangai Pass, he gathered his men, his entire family and house, and rallied to the city. He still shuddered to think how quickly the Shaido had subdued the countryside. There had been a half dozen warring factions in the Civil War, and none of them stood a chance against the black-veiled menace.

When they had surrounded the city, Dobraine had learned the sour truth of the Aiel War. That the Aiel hadn't lost, they'd just accomplished the assassination they'd intended from the get go. His grand dad, Delvrone el' Pehar Taborwin had lost his life to Aiel spears. So had a half dozen distant cousins and uncles. Dobraine himself had been a teenager, but his eldest brother had fought in that war. Fought, and been crippled. Roland Taborwin never recovered from the spine blow that took his legs from him. He'd been the heir apparent. But when it became clear that Roland would never be the Lord of House Taborwin, Dobraine had to step up. As a younger son, he'd been trained to manage the House, but not to lead it. He was young when Roland was "retired" and further war not an option. Besides which, Laman himself was fleeing north with all the vim and vigour remaining to him. So Dobraine was spared the Aiel War, but his house, as with all Cairhien, suffered a painful toll. He'd no reason to love the Aiel, and when the Shaido had surrounded the Cairhien, he had been glad to lead a charge against them. But, unlike some other lords he could mention, it had only taken one charge and the loss of 213 good men to convince him of the futility of vengeance. At that point, sitting tight in the city had seemed like a good idea.

Then came the razing of the Foregate. Though many of his peers could care less about commoners, many of his most loyal House Taborwin servants, men and women who had served the family faithfully, sometimes for generations, had cousins living in the Foregate. He'd had to provide solace to several of his household that night, the farrier Ned, old Suze the wet nurse, Elza his chambermaid. But that night, as he, his wife, and daughter had shared a bed in Greenweir, it occurred to him that Cairhien could well be lost. And with that, his wife, and daughter, raped and killed, or whatever these savages did with women and children.

It occurred to him then, that Daes Dae'mar had ruined his fair nation. From political bickering and knives in alleyways, to the assassination of King Galldrian himself. Laman's Sin, as the Aiel called it, itself had been a calculated insult. An insult that had cost hundreds of thousands of lives. It was sheer stupidity. And then, the siege broke.

At first, he and his arms men had watched in stunned silence as the Aiel seemed to turn on each other. But Vintner had been first to notice that the new army had swept South to North, pushing the besieging army along the roaring waters of the Alguenya. It still seemed unreal, opposing clans? And then the world began to burn.

It had been Dobraine's first encounter with the Power. Watching jagged lightnings fall, while entire hills exploded in fire. It was then that he'd noticed Lord Estean's sigil in the melee. He hadn't believed it when Merenril had returned from his scouting mission, with tales of the Dragon Reborn, mere leagues away. Wasn't the man in Tear? Hadn't the man seemingly vanished after uprooting the entire world? But the smoke and fires convinced him. The Dragon had come, and he had come to save Cairhien. For that alone, Dobraine would have pledged him his life. And when he rode out with Colavaere after the siege had lifted, he had intended on giving the man the throne itself. But the Aiel Wise Ones wouldn't let him get close to the man, and he never got to make his offer.

He remembered standing in the Great Hall, when the man had entered with his coterie of Maidens. He wasn't dressed like a Lord, at least, not as lordly as the asinine Lord Weiramon standing beside him. There was a weakness to his frame, but of course, the battle had raged for six hours or more. His red hair made him seem like the Aiel, but he had a fairness to his features that spoke of the peoples East of the Spine of the World. He did have that foppish harpist next to him, but perhaps the man had an ear for music.

His first words, ringing amongst the fat square marble columns, laced with blue, were that the throne belonged to someone else. Hardly the words of a King, but what he said next was even more puzzling, requesting a comfortable chair. He wasn't King, but he wasn't leaving. He meant to stay. Stay as what? Would the Civil War start back up again, thought Dobraine desperately. If his first words were confusing, his next words sealed in Dobraine's mind, what House Taborwin's relationship to the Dragon would become.

"Why do the Cairhienien hang back? Tairens came to help, but that is no reason for the Cairhienien to hang in the rear here. Let everyone sort themselves by rank."

Amidst the shock of the day's proceedings, and the Dragon's encouraging words, were gazes of wonder among his countrymen. Colavaere and he had shared a long look, then made their way to the front of the hall.

If those words had eased the Cairhienien, his next thrilled them, "This is Cairhien, and the Rising Sun, must and will fly proudly. Cairhien has her own honor, which she shall keep." Dobraine and Colavaere beamed at one another, forgetting their own complicated history. They whooped and laughed, and shook their fists in the air. And with those simple words, the wounds of he and his fellow Cairhienien began to heal. When it was his time to swear fealty, he knelt without hesitation.

His reveries had given him considerable pause, because night had fallen on the city when he stopped to peer from a window on the stair. Looking out he could see the lamps down in the courtyard, and burning lights flitting from the other Topless Towers, and beyond it, a bit of the city, what he could see above the palace ramparts. Looking down, he thought he could see the courtyard, and saw Berelain, a white and black dot from up here. He could hear shrill voices below, there was some kind of commotion. Berelain was issuing orders, and gray clad servants were scattering in all directions. He sighed. Always work to do. He started back down.

Indeed, it had been Berelain, and he was stopped by an out of breath servant a quarter of the way from last step.

"There's been an incident, my lord, the Lady Berelain requests your presence immediately."

Dobraine moved with alacrity, and found Berelain in her quarters, in a sitting room set up for audiences. In Mayene, such audiences were informal, and seldom held in the pomp of a palace Great Hall. The beautiful woman smiled wearily at him as he entered. He scowled, same as always.

"Sorry if I caused any trouble with you and your wife, Dobraine. If she didn't react the way she did, I'd never bother with the pretense."

Some women flirted to find a mate, Berelain flirted because she found it amusing.

"What's going on, I'm expected to sup with the her tonight, and I should go back to my chambers before then."

She paused and looked at him gravely, "dinner might have to wait."


	3. Chapter 3

Dobraine, Vintner and two dozen of his guard, trotted toward the Pocked Quarter, an area in the north west of the city, abutting the wall where the Foregate used to be. It was early morn. The news was bad, but he had issued orders for the scene to be left undisturbed, and had sent the palace guard to cordon off the area. Leah had wanted to come with him to see the city, but he had gently pried her from around his waist and escorted her back to her bedroom. Few yet knew about this errand, but he feared that by the time he returned, the news would be all over the city. One of Rand al'Thor's new laws had been broken. Badly.

The Pocked Quarter was almost an extension of the Foregate, but it served a slightly higher clientele. Though it was a fact that the city's nicest brothels were in private clubs and were operated out of otherwise respectable buildings, the Pocked Quarter served soldiers, sailors, and travelers. And quite aside from the rambunctious brothels, many of the city's most prominent alehouses were located along it's filthy streets.

Entering the Pocked Quarter Dobraine saw a plethora of wooden signs, and cut outs, in cartoonish shapes of nude women. Here Cairhienien laws of decorum were casually set aside. In the grey morning light, the city was still blissfully quiet. If he had rode out last night (Betwyr would have had him assassinated) he would have beheld rows of colourful balconies. Each bedecked with women, and their undergarments, beckoning to the johns below. As it was, with a night's work behind them, the balconies were empty save for a few coloured scarves waving in the air, and the odd drunken slattern, half naked, reclining unconscious in an outdoor sedan chair.

The house of ill repute Lord Dobraine sought was a more upstanding brothel, but still, of a lower class than occasion might have warranted. It was called The Dilettante Dove. And unlike the colourful buildings around, it was painted largely white, was well kept, with highlights of bright red paint decorating the awnings, doors and window sills. If and when the Daughter-Heir of Andor took charge of Cairhien, the Dilettante Dove would enjoy a brilliant and bustling business, until it was abruptly closed by the Queen's Guards.

His retinue was met at the door by the matron of the house.

"You are the one called Silhouette?" enquired Dobraine, signalling a halt and dismounting from the saddle.

The woman was beautiful, but older, with a fair amount of grey in her once black hair. She nodded.

"Lord Dobraine?" her voice had a low rasp to it. She must have been a courtesan in her youth. He nodded, "follow me. The murderers both left, but several of the girls got descriptions, and as your orders suggested, Daisy found a few small items remaining that might serve to identify them."

She was quick and efficient, and clearly cared about her girls, or else he likely wouldn't be here. He assumed the men had paid for the requested services. Turning to Vintner, he ordered two men plus his captain to accompany him up the stairs.

Silhouette led the way into the building. He had been expecting darkness and red curtains, he was pleasantly surprised. The brothel was white within, with large windows casting light from a back garden, across the furniture. Though the armchairs were overstuffed and meant to be sunk into, they weren't the heavy colors he'd expected. Instead, the interior was dressed in light orange and turquoise. Unusual colors, and more expensive colors for their rarity. The Dilettante Dove was clearly not so deserving of ill repute as he had thought. The decor was in the classic Cairhienien style, the sculpture was minimal, and suggestive rather than lewd, while the wall hangings were single color tapestries. He frankly was amazed. He'd never entered a room so oddly designed. And yet, it's sheer newness carried an erotic thrill that even he could feel.

This erotic thrill wasn't helped by the appearance of several reclining women, clad, though diaphanously. A small still pool of water sat in the center of the room. Other women, also scantily clad, but with more left to the imagination walked about serving food, drinks, and straightening up the place. Even the servants were whores. To a woman, they all looked at him and his men as they entered. He could feel Pauli, one of the guards selected, reacting to the women. He glanced at Vintner, who elbowed poor Pauli hard in the gut.

"Your men, are welcome of course to partake, though I assume you won't be staying long." Silhouette said coolly eying the goggle eyed Pauli.

"My men will assist with the investigation, and return with me."

Silhouette eyed him strangely. He was attracted to her, he couldn't help it, but he had his duty, and his wife, neither of whom would allow for such behaviour.

"Well, we must come to some arrangement, but for now, the room is up the stairs." She gestured to a grand stairwell that sloped upward starting at the base of the pool. He and his men tromped up the stairs, some of the girls tittering below. The stairway lead to a sitting room, from which two long hallways spread perpendicularly.

A girl was sitting in a pink slip and nothing else, sobbing, outside of the door in question.

"Daisy, go to your room." Silhouette said crisply.

Daisy was a beautiful young girl, with honey gold hair and waif like features.

"Who are they?" She asked suspiciously, through her tears.

Silhouette was about to answer when Dobraine interrupted her. "We are the law of Cairhien, and the mercy of the Lord Dragon."

"Go to your room," Silhouette repeated in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Wait," said Dobraine. "You were close with the deceased? You worked last night?" The girl nodded to both questions, uncertain. "You can wait in the hall or come in. But you cannot touch the body until I say."

"We discovered the body an hour past Vespers, still early enough in the evening—" Silhouette withdrew a key from her gown, and undid the lock, but before she could continue Dobraine hushed her.

"Let us see the murder scene first, Goodwoman Silhouette." The woman, ghastly pale, and fighting both anger and sadness, managed a small twist of a smile for the formal appellation.

"Matron, Lord Dobraine, I am no good woman."

She threw open the door. The first thing Dobraine saw was a streak of blood that reached almost to the door. It was thick and congealed in most places, but a deeper pockets were still wet. A few boot prints were outlined in blood. Before any further examination, he motioned to Vintner. The other arms men, Scottlark was a Thieftaker by profession, though sworn to House Taborwin. Scottlark immediately went to them and opened up his tradesack to find materials to preserve the boot prints.

"Clearly an amateur, my lord." He said, grinning at the full boot print.

"An amateur at escaping, Scottlark, not an amateur at killing." Said Dobraine.

The room within still had the shades pulled, and so was unfortunately dark. But immediately, he perceived a four poster bed, and a pale shape spread-eagled on the bedspread. Carefully stepping around Scottlark and the boot prints, Dobraine went further into the room. Within, all seemed aright, nothing was overturned, or destroyed, though the top three drawers had been pulled open in the dressers facing the bed.

"The girl, her name?" asked Dobraine. She was the pale dead shape on the bed, tawny locks, now matted in blood fell well past her shoulders. She was tied by each of her limbs, tied to rings that had been hammered into the side of the bed frame. Her body, voluptuous and pale, was lacerated in two or three dozen places, starting with her shins, and climbing to her face, which had been tragically disfigured. Her nose was half off, the other half lying to the side by a thin strip of flesh.

Silhouette answered with a choked gag, "She called herself Lady Vrayne, though the girls called her Airs and Graces. She came to the Dove two years ago, before the troubles. A miller's daughter, I believe."

"Her real name?" Silhouette shook her head, either she didn't know, or she wouldn't say. "Vrayne the Miller's daughter. Make a note," he said to his staff. "How and when was she discovered?"

Dobraine looked at the corpse with cold clarity, he didn't allow himself to think that he himself had a daughter.

"An hour or two after Vespers, the girls heard screaming earlier, but Vrayne was... boisterous... my lord. One of her claims to fame at the Dove. It was a while before anyone thought to check."

"The wounds, my lord."

"Yes, I see, a flensing knife, no simple dagger would be sharp enough for this type of work." He turned toward Silhouette. "These aren't the girl's rooms are they?"

"No my lord, they sleep two to a room, some on the third level, some in the basement. Daisy was Vrayne's roommate. These rooms are for customers. How did you know?"

"Empty bureaus."

"They tried to rob her?"

"Or to make us think that was the intent. Vintner, I want a thorough search of the room. Go on?" he said encouraging Silhouette to continue.

"Daisy heard thumping, again, not uncommon. But this seemed somewhat different. It was around then that she heard a cry that seemed to be for help, directed to Daisy. She had trouble disengaging from her own client, but as soon as she did she ran down the stairs and had Barstad, Crink and Lupus charging up the stairs. Some of the blood on the ground is Crink's, he was cut pretty badly. Barstad and Lupus ran down the stairs chasing one of them."

"And the other?"

"He seemed to disappear my lord."

Scottlark pointed, "the window my lord."

A wail behind them as Daisy fell to the floor, as she beheld her friend's corpse. She was sobbing uncontrollably. Knowing now that Vrayne's last words had been a plea to this young girl, his heart went out to her.

"Does she have family in the city?" Gesturing to Daisy.

"None living, my lord." Silhouette kept her eyes downcast.

"Later, when she is calm, tell her that we can find a place for her on the palace staff. If she so desires. Provided she pledges to leave her old trade behind. Come," Dobraine gestured curtly, as if showing human emotion had somehow shamed him, "Vintner and Scottlark will find anything your girls missed. Pauli, with me. Matron, you have a room where we can sit? We'll need to interview the girls, yourself, any guards you who worked last night, particularly the three you just mentioned. And of course, Daisy here. Get the girl a cup of tea, or a shot of brandy."

Silhouette left the room, still shaking slightly. She'd probably seen girls beaten, likely had taken a few beatings herself, perhaps even a few cuttings. But the poor girl. She lead the way back down the hall.

"Was she alive when it was done?" Said Daisy.

Silhouette returned in time to hear Scottlark's answer, "Judging by the gag, I'd say yes. But, we can hope that blood loss made it quick. What can you tell me about the clients."

A grim light entered Silhouette's eyes. Dobraine interrupted her before she could speak.

"Do all your beds have rings on them for binding?"

"No! Of course not! Some of the men like it rough of course, but we have strict rules, and..." she paused, licking her lips nervously, "and we keep only one ring, over the headboard."

Dobraine nodded absently. "The rings that bound her were hammered into the frame. One of the men held the girl, while the other placed the rings."

"My Lord Dobraine... they were... " she gulped. "Men of means."

It wasn't rare for lords to visit the Pocked Quarter, the prices were after all considerably cheaper. There was always the risk of footpads, but there were other risks too. The flux, the clap, and assorted other ailments that girls in the finer establishments in the city were more likely to avoid. There was also the risk to one's reputation.

Dobraine ignored her trepidation, "Did they have drinks in the common room before the murder?"

"No, they asked for a selection, which isn't uncommon... the girls lined up, one of them sneered at every girl he saw, but the other, he was the one who picked poor Lady Vrayne. Said he would give her a real title... he had an intensity to him that was startling."

Dobraine thought for a moment, "These men weren't after a simple roll in the hay. It seems that there was purpose to the girl's condition. Had she other noble guests?"

"My lord, Vrayne was new to the trade, and only two years in the city, I doubt she could have known anything useful to Daes Dae'mar!"

Dobraine had spoken his thoughts aloud, "No, I don't think she was the only one new to the city. I think that these men did this for pleasure. And the cuts, and those rings, indicate some proficiency. When I find them, I will have them hanged. Regardless of who they are. That is the law of the Lord Dragon."

They were sitting within one of the other bedrooms now. It was a room for customers, but possibly one with a more literary bent, as there was a writing table, an easel and a couch.

"Pauli, go down to the landing and send three more men up. Then go to the Lady Berelain with the following message: The girl was murdered for pleasure. Two men, accomplished at the task. She must look for rumors, in the city in particular, but tell her to keep an ear out for the countryside as well."

Pauli left them. Dobraine and Silhouette shared a long glance.

"My Lord... the matter of payment... We are not the richest brothel, but for this service in particular, I would be willing to—"

"No. And there is no need for payment. The law must be carried out."

"Then take payment from me." She had a determined look, her eyes smouldering "I hate the men who did this. And I want to see them caught, and tortured the way Lady Vrayne was, and killed. And..." her ardour for blood, draining somewhat "because not all lords would see their duty as you... my lord."

Dobraine almost relented. Silhouette was beautiful, and Lady Betwyr and he hadn't shared a bed for years. With the exception of a few nights during the siege, which had been sexless, scared affairs. And certainly the passion with which Silhouette seemed to care for her chattel was attractive. Nonetheless, he felt constrained.

"Perhaps some other time. I am here on the Lord Dragon's business. On behalf of the Law."

She wilted a bit at the cold rejection. He felt bad.

"It's not—you are a beautiful."

"I understand, my lord, no need to say anything further. " She changed to a business like tone, "The men were both cloaked and hooded, so I only caught glimpses of their faces. But I could detect the accents of the nobility of Tear in one of them. He was the one with the sneer. The other was certainly a Cairhienien, but as you suggested, not the accents of one who spent much time in the city. I thought I could see some facial hair on the Tairen's face. And I believe he was addressed by the other as Caymar."

Dobraine went cold. That was almost certainly Caymar Troyce. Troyce was a young Lord of the Land, a vassal to Lord Meilan. He was a whip of a man, dangerous with a sword, and with a wild look to his eyes. He'd been quite popular with the ladies of Cairhien, and in his short time here had deflowered many a bridal bed. The other he couldn't place.

"And the other, the Cairhienien was ... intense?"

His men tromped up the stairs. He asked them to start taking statements of the girls who worked that night, and the guards. Some of whom were off for the day. His men were familiar with the work, and enjoyed that Dobraine entrusted them with tasks that required a bit of responsibility and thought.

"You said your girls found some objects of theirs?"

"Indeed." She called down to a serving girl, and a few minutes later, one appeared with a canvas sack.

The sack was stained with blood, and had a rough coil of rope within, the same rope that had been used to tie Vrayne the Miller's Daughter to the bed. Also, in it was a dagger, unremarkable in its details, and a hank of human hair.

He withdrew the hair, "same color? This is hers?"

Silhouette stammered a bit, unsure, it was a similar color. They both rose and went back to the room.

"My lord, I was just about to make a report," said Scottlark.

"Good. What have you found," he compared the hair in his hand to the hair of the girl in the bed.

"As you suspected, the knife used my lord, a flensing knife. The killer took it with him, but if it's the type I suspect, there aren't too many of them made in the city. I'm sure we can track it down. The boot print is most certainly of a distinctly Tairen caste. And, most damning, there is this,"

Scottlark handed him the corner of a cloak, dark purple but with gold embroidery. "We were quite lucky my lord. The killer who fled through the window left a bit of his cloak behind. If it were just any gold embroidery, I'd say we'd have to have a great old time going to parties and looking in cloakrooms. But it just so happens, I think I've seen this cloak before. Maybe my lord remembers?"

Dobraine stared at Scottlark in consternation. Familiarity was only permissible in private. Still, he gave the cloak a closer look.

"Dammnit, this is worse than I'd thought."

Silhouette looked askance to Dobraine, but the man was silent. Scottlark cast a meaningful glance to Vintner. Dobraine peered inwardly for a long time. He now knew who the killers were. He wished for some mistake, but had the sick feeling that there was none.

"Silhouette, you shall have your justice, but you should know that the men who did this are indeed very powerful, and the arm of the law is less preventative than it is reactionary. This will become very public, very fast. Your custom will suffer, and so will your reputation. More, you could be in some danger. Not from the killers, I will see to that. You will have to give testimony before me, or a magistrate at the Palace, as will Daisy. You might consider temporarily closing this establishment."

Silhouette gulped, "my lord, the Dove has withstood trying times before..."

Dobraine cut in, "when Galldrian was assassinated, the lives of fifty commoners were extinguished by the Great Houses, seeking answers to questions, mostly, but often simply tying up loose ends. I suggest that you not be here when that happens. Vintner, Scottlark, gather up the evidence, we have what we need. I'll meet you outside."

Dobraine bade Silhouette goodbye, it was an awkward, yet still tender farewell. After he broke the news to his wife, he knew he might be visiting Silhouette sooner than he'd ever imagined.


	4. Chapter 4

As he and his men cantered down the wide Central Avenue, back toward the Palace, Dobraine considered his options. After sending his men out on various errands, he now had in his company about fourteen men. He certainly had more loyal arms men back at the palace, and also at the Downs, but it would take time to summon them. And the killers, if they'd heard anything at all, would now know that they were wanted. They likely would not flee, it was not the way of nobility. They had solicitors and deep pockets, and of course, swords and few consequences.

There was a deeper decision to make, one he had avoided thinking about while the beautiful Silhouette had been before him. Namely, that one of the killers was his wife's cousin.

Lord Orliss Dagenred. Dobraine had only met the man once, and it was at his wedding. Yet he remembered it clearly, and uncomfortably. Orliss had been wearing a resplendent royal purple doublet with a matching cloak. He'd far outshone Dobraine, who'd simply worn his colors, in stark military dress. Orliss was a minor shoot of the house, but Dagenred was a powerful house, and had been a contender for the Sun Throne. Orliss was a young dandy, and had play acted at taking a side during the Civil War, but was never seen in an actual skirmish. Still, he was thoroughly accomplished with the sword. He was known among the fairer sex for his eyes. Which were neither honest, nor credulous, but held the sort of flickering twilight that so entranced the young.

Dobraine remembered him chiefly because he'd come armed to the wedding. This was not an unusual phenomenon, but most men peace wrapped their swords, as much as to defend against petty larceny during the drunken revelry that Cairhienien weddings involved. Orliss had come alone, not unusual for young men with a taste for salaciousness, and had found himself the center of attention of two young cousins, one of House Taborwin, a cousin named Breane, and another of his own house, twice removed. He'd managed to convince both to accompany him to an unused cloak room. But their arrival had been seen by one of the servers. Who quite innocuously informed one of the girl's betrothed that his fiancé had just entered with young Orliss. The ensuing conflict had broken two trestle tables, broken several hundred crowns worth of good Sea Folk porcelain, and resulted in at least one dowry, forcibly tripled.

Dobraine didn't much care for the man. In the intervening years, he'd heard a rumor that he'd started a number of duels with nobles visiting his country estates, and had "accidently" struck a killing blow on more than one occasion. But Lady Betwyr adored him. As she had reminded him over supper just last night, they had been great friends: summers swimming in Pierredjan pond, the wicked rumors they would start together while tasting exotic foods prepared by visiting chefs.

Apparently his tastes had moved on, in more ways than one.

There was no question in his mind about what he must do. Dobraine Taborwin might not know much about Forsaken, about Trollocs, or these Seanchean. But he knew about the law, and he knew about loyalty. And he knew Rand al'Thor. This was not a crime that al'Thor would leave any discretion to the interim rulers of Cairhien.

But doing it, that was the problem.

Dobraine's first marriage had been into House Saighan. It had been a marriage for the good of the House, but the girl, Selwhene, had been comely, and willing. Taborwin was a less powerful house than Saighan, but Selwhene was a third daughter, and not in direct line to inherit much, a cousin to Lady Colavaere on her mother's side. Selwhene had gotten with child within months of the marriage. But it was not to be, the girl and his unborn child died early during the pregnancy. Dobraine, who had started to have real feelings for Selwhene, he was then at the tender age of 25, was quite heartbroken.

Needless to say, as the head of his house, a young widower, he'd been a hot commodity. But matters with his elder brother had taken a dark turn, and skirmishes with Andor and Murandy had left little time for womanizing. A skill that the young lord didn't have. It wasn't until ten years later, when he was nearly out of his third decade that another woman caught his eye. Betwyr wasn't classically beautiful, her forehead was too high, her eyes too wide, her cheek bones too severe. But she'd stood out to him because she had an air of mischief, a twinkle in her eye, a slight mockery of the truth that had been hard for him to put his finger on.

He'd pursued her. Clumsily. Lady Betwyr had had many suitors. Dobraine had been the highest standing of the suitors, but he was much older, and his "technique" rusty at best. Nor was he as witty as she, nor as learned. And, the dark secret of House Taborwin stood between him and all of Cairhien, much less his wife. Of course, there were rumors, but it had been easy enough to plant a dozen or more false trails, all of which clouded the issue. And given that his elder brother was rarely seen, it was for most, a moot point.

Suffice it to say, when they said their wedding vows, it had not been the happy day both had hoped for—he looked desperately into his wife's eyes for some clue as to what she actually thought of him, and she looked deeply into his eyes to try to understand anything factual about him. And every day of the last ten years, he'd looked at her the same, and she him. The only thing that had changed, was that the ardour he had felt for her had cooled. Their progeny was limited to one child. Betwyr would be leaving her most fertile years soon, and that was a great disappointment to them both.

Killing her cousin would kill their marriage. It could not be plainer. Even if he recused himself, which he could not at present, do; the law was clear, and he was its main progenitor. The killer would hang. And Betwyr would blame him. After all, this pleasant faced killer couldn't possibly be the boy she had spent such golden hours with growing up. Proof positive would make Betwyr see the truth, but she would never believe the word of a commoner, much less a common prostitute. No, if Orliss had killed the scion of a noble house, a young noble girl from a good house, than indeed, very little proof would be required to condemn him. Not for the first time, Dobraine cursed the existence of Al'Thor. No one cared about commoners, no one cared about prostitutes, the whole world knew that they were less than the nobility. They were barely even people! But Al'Thor was a commoner, and so it was different for him. The Power, in effect, was the most democratizing force the Creator had ever bestowed on his people. It was the great equalizer. Power that came in equal parts to scullery maids as it did to Queens.

Except, it wasn't just Al'Thor. Dobraine knew, deep down, that the new laws were right. He'd always known, or rather, it had taken his ascension to Lord of House Taborwin that had finally persuaded him. Roland had been everything a lord could want as his heir, handsome, a warrior born, sophisticated and well educated, and above all, ambitious. It wasn't that Dobraine hadn't been loved or wanted, simply that Roland had been raised to become Lord of the House, and had succeeded at everything he turned his hand to. When Roland lost his legs, he also lost something of his mind. They'd sought an Aes Sedai of course, but after the war, they remained holed up in Tar Valon for some time. By the time one had finally made it out the estates, she'd said too much time had passed since the injury to do anything.

Roland was an invalid, and he could barely feed himself. On some days it seemed he could do little on his own but breathe. Watching his brother being cared for, had changed Dobraine. He now knew, that others simply needed help. Here was his brother, who had done everything right in his life, right down to his lineage and birth order, struck down by the Pattern. What was the sense of it? The sense was, he'd often thought, some people just needed to be cared for, and the poor, the hungry, the sick, needed it more than most.

A clatter of hooves in front of their party announced that Berelain had ridden out to meet him. She stood with her own thief takers.

"I see you, Dobraine" it seemed she had taken on some of Rhuarc's mannerisms, "a quick search of the rumor mill was fruitful. It seems that there have been other murders, two others, two nights ago, and the night previous to that. I'm surprised that we hadn't heard of them, frankly, they were pretty grisly."

"Girls? Poor girls?"

"Indeed, the daughter of a saddler, and a tavern maid in the New Foregate."

"One for every night he's been in the city then. We cannot wait any longer. Have your men follow me."

"You know who the killer is?"

"Unfortunately it is my cousin."

"It's that cad, Lord Orliss is it not?"

"And Caymar Troyce."

She whistled through her teeth. Both men had made passes at her, both men had treated her like dirt. And it seemed they were two peas in a pod, one murderous green bean. But she obviously knew of both men's reputations. "I'll send my man back for more soldiers. Perhaps we should even ask the Wise Ones if they'd send us some Stone Puppies, or Knife Fisties."

Dobraine stifled a chuckle. Taborwins did not laugh. "No time. I thought if it were just the one murder, we could put off rounding them up. Now that it's three, they might flee the city if they knew the heat were on. And if they don't know it, then I'm afraid there might be a new corpse for the public graves tomorrow morning. No the seventeen of us must do. Troyce is staying at the Meilan Estate, send your men there to watch. We will go to Park Row, where my cousin stays when he is in the city."

With that, the troop set out. Park Row, was one of the richest, most influential districts in the city. But it was not a place with its own palaces. It was where minor lordlings and wealthy merchants made their home. It was set on a rise in the city, in the North East, close enough to walk to both the Sun Palace, and the Cairhien Civil Exchange, the center of business in Cairhien.

The city was waking up now, and the streets were getting crowded, harder for the men to move, even in a mounted troop. Vintner rode in the lead, cracking a horse whip above his head and calling for the crowd to move away. For the most part, the people were willing. The passerby were bankers, clerks, merchants, ship captains, as well as the bustling service class, finishing their early morning clean of the city proper. They cleaned the gutters, removed leaves from entrance ways, polished signs and wiped down mirrors as coffee shops, trade houses, cobblers, and other merchants readied their wares for the day.

Idly, Dobraine wondered if Al'Thor had ever been anywhere near the Civil Exchange, the CCE. The man's concern for people of his own class and caste was admirable, but did he know anything about the blood and guts of trade? Perhaps a tour could be arranged. The CCE was one of the larger exchanges on the continent, surpassed only by Tar Valon and Caemlyn's. Some years back, the CCE had acquired the Tear Merchant Index, and Illian's exchange was limited primarily to commodities. So the CCE controlled most of the trade East of the River Erinin. Dobraine knew Rand al' Thor was no simple hayseed. He had over a dozen Aes Sedai to advise him, but more, he knew surprising things about city administration. He seemed almost to surprise himself at times, with such knowledge.

His musings were interrupted as they reached the manor where Orliss was staying. It was a six story building, two floors higher than the buildings on either side of it. There was a small yard in the front, with a gate, a stable, and some tasteless statuary in front. A bored guard was sipping a cup of tea, no doubt nursing a hangover from the previous eve. As the train of armed men stopped at the gates, the guard straightened almost comically, knocking down his halberd with a clatter, and slopping his tea over his mailed fist.

"We are here to speak with Lord Orliss. Fetch him, we will remain here by the gate."

The guard looked nervously at the assembled men, ostentatiously loosening their swords and pole arms.

"I have orders not to disturb the young lord. He was out late last night."

Dobraine shared a glance with Berelain. "Indeed."

"Fetch him or we will fetch him ourselves."

"You can't threaten me, or the Carlin Manor."

"Perhaps I should have made myself clear. I am Lord Dobraine Taborwin, sworn in service to the Dragon Reborn, ruler of Cairhien. I command you to fetch Lord Orliss, and—" he added as an afterthought, "whoever is with him."

The guard gulped, and ran from his post to the great doors.

They waited.

"Berelain, you should step back. This might well come to a show of force."

"In Mayene, the First is always trained to defend herself." She tossed her great main of glistening black hair proudly.

Dobraine growled, what was it with women and danger? They seemed to like it. "My men have swords lady. They can't swing them with you near, so do your part to save lives, and step back." Her eyes hardened, but he sighed. "Please."

And just as Berelain began to gracefully step back through the throng, armed men began to pour out of the Carlin Manor. Led by Orliss, and, Troyce. Dobraine breathed a sigh of relief. They were together, that would make this easier. He could see why they were friends, they both had a swagger. Orliss, was bold and brash; Troyce, was all quiet arrogance.

"Cousin!" Orliss began, "I'm having your wife for dinner this eve at the Palace. Are the streets of Cairhien so unsafe with these savages about that you need escort me with such a large honor guard?"

Dobraine gritted his teeth, it was time to put his money where his mouth was.

"Lord Orliss Dagenred, I have come to escort you to the Palace. You are under arrest for the murder of a prostitute last night in the Pocked Quarter, and are under suspicion of at least two more murders."

"Oh, that is patently ridiculous! Why, I didn't even leave Carlin Manor last night, my friend Troyce and I drank fire whiskey and played cards all night! I can have four servants swear the same right here."

"Your gate guard has already admitted you were out last night. Even if he disappears, or miraculously changes his testimony, his words were witnessed by myself, the Lady Berelain, and about a dozen other witnesses."

"That proves nothing, sure, we were out briefly, we may have even been in the Pocked Quarter, there are some taverns—"

Troyce began quietly loosening his sword, as he stared impassively at his friend.

"We have other witnesses, you and Troyce were described accurately. I've also begun making inquiries in the country, near your lands. Men? Take them." His men began dismounting, and fourteen mailed men swung to the cobblestones in a clatter of steel.

"This is jealousy, plain and simple. Your wife loves me better. She tells me your marriage bed is as cold as the grave. You know, we did more than just climb trees and play Fleadoogle. I was her f—"

Dobraine's rage was a cold thing. He had always suspected, but never accused. It did not matter if Orliss was lying or not, kissing games were exactly the sort of thing young nobles played, even with distant cousins, particularly in the country, when it might be weeks between visitors. And his wife's affections for this monster were real, regardless of their provenance. Still, Dobraine knew when he was trying to be provoked.

"You and Troyce will be given a chance to argue for your defense. If what you say is true, I will have to recuse myself, but Lady Berelain and a magistrate will try your case. The evidence, however, does not look good for you. Your vanity was your undoing, as even now you still wear the same cloak."

Pointing to the corner of his cloak, he could see the dark purple fabric was ripped at the bottom. As the gazes of nearly a score of men were drawn downward, Troyce drew his sword in a flash.

"He's going to attack!" Cried Berelain.

Confusion reigned. Troyce and Orliss's men surged forward, as his own arms men called out and charged. Dobraine himself drew his blade and met Orliss' blade with a loud clang.

"You can kill the arms men, but Troyce and Orliss must stand and face the Lord Dragon's justice!" Called Berelain from beyond the lines.

Bless her. It had the desired effect. The odds were in Dobraine's favour, even though Orliss and Troyce were worth three swords each. But knowing that the arms men would receive naught but death, made them much less willing to throw their lives away. Oddly, several of Troyce's men continued to fight.

Orliss was a gifted sword, and merciless, but he was no soldier. He scored several minor cuts to Dobraine, and he smirked at each one.

"You're slow, old man."

"You fool, if you hadn't resisted you'd have had half a chance at your trial."

"Why bother, we'll cut you down and be gone from the city before those black veiled savages can blink twice. We'll join the others in Haddon Mirk."

Dobraine reached across the distance with a mailed fist. It connected squarely with Orliss' handsome jaw. He went down in a heap.

The fighting stopped after that. Troyce had sustained several sword wounds. And his men who continued to resist were now bleeding to death on the manor grounds. Dobraine let the men who had dropped their swords go free. Troyce and Orliss were in custody.

Dobraine summoned the gate guard and asked him to summon the head butler. The man arrived almost immediately, he had likely watched the entire altercation. "You must show my men Lord Orliss' room. They will take evidence, but leave any valuables unless they appear to be useful to the investigation."

Berelain and his guards readied their mounts for the return trip to the palace. Berelain, in light green riding leathers, sidled her horse up beside his. Her beautiful face looked relieved.

"That went much better than I expected."

"I think as well, it seems I have your timely interjection to thank for that."

"You realize," she said softly, "what you will have to do? My judgment cannot alter the law"

"I know," was all he said.


	5. Chapter 5

Dobraine was back in his sitting room. It was midday, Morganfleed had just laid out a repast, quail eggs, arugula, dates, and almonds, with two thick slices of bread. He was penning several orders, some regarding the disposition of grain from Tear, others were missives to the Sea Folk, and half a dozen other ambassadors and tradesmen. His wife was at the Lady Ailil's palace. No doubt she'd heard of the morning's arrest and would be back soon to issue a tirade.

The evidence taken from Lord Orliss' rooms was damning: more hanks of hair, several items that had belonged to the girls. They had even a leather bound book, with etchings of the girls murdered, portraits done in the Vanderhue Style, on the pages. There were well over a dozen. The level of carelessness was surprising. The man was not an idiot. But one and all the girls had been base born. There were so many of them, what's one more peasant girl more or less? Troyce's belongings had largely escaped, his rooms at the other end of town had been ransacked and destroyed before his men could get there, and much of what remained was in a cipher which Dobraine had been unable to break. Dobraine suspected the man might be a Darkfriend.

He was beginning to think Rand al'Thor was more than simply right. He was beginning to suspect that something was deeply wrong with the Cairhienien system of governance. Thinking of al'Thor reminded him of Colavaere, and his stomach knotted in guilt.

He had not cared for the woman, though their association had lasted nearly two decades and they had been on friendly terms for much or most of that time. The Dragon's punishment had been a surprise to all. Titles and lands stripped? Treason came with execution, but to destroy the head of a house, could unbalance the entire nation. Bertome Saighan had been apoplectic with rage (well away from the ears of the Dragon Reborn, of course), and the Cairhienien courts would be tied up in litigation for decades regarding the lands the Dragon had stripped from the third largest Cairhienien house.

But care for Colavaere or Saighan was not from whence his guilt came. Al'Thor had placed her in his custody. Her suicide had been his fault, and his failure. He should have seen the signs, the despondency with which the woman had wandered her rooms. He should have seen her honour, her patriotism. A lesser woman would have used her resources to flee. She likely had some small holdings in Andor, if not she might well find welcome in the rebel camp. She chose instead to end her life a Cairhienien, and to die the death that was owed her, not the torture to which Al'Thor in his "mercy" had condemned her.

In her position, he might well have done the same. To live without honour, to live without means... he did not know if he could. Taborwin was a strong house, and stronger since the fall of Galldrian. He had always had servants, food had always been plentiful, and he'd sooner die than push a plow. To be forced to live at another's whim. To toil in the dirt, to then have to give a third or half of your hard earned work to a lord whom you likely had never met, and who certainly didn't give a damn for you. Again... he looked at Al'Thor with new eyes, and at Andor with its egalitarian laws.

It was during these dark musings that he heard several doors slam in rapid succession within his apartments. His wife was home, and she was coming for him. He turned outward from his desk, quickly sorting and stacking some of his papers, if she should decide to muss them in her anger.

The door flew open, crashing against the wall, and disturbing a porcelain figurine depicting a Sea Folk woman riding a wave.

"Why, wife, you're home early." He said mildly.

"Oh, aren't you so proud of yourself. So full of yourself, look at the great big powerful Lord Dobraine Taborwin, betrayer of Cairhien." Her beautiful features were twisted in rage. He could barely recognize the woman he married when she was like this.

"Wife, your cousin is guilty of murder. Guilty of rape and murder. It was out of my hands the moment he was caught."

"Please, this isn't about some filthy whore getting her slit throat in a back alley. This is about you and me. You've always hated him. Hated him for being closer to me than anyone else." She flung her outer coat onto a leather couch, dark Andoran leather.

"Betwyr, the evidence is without a shadow of a doubt. If he can make any argument in his defense, he might be freed... but even then. The man assaulted me and my men. He nearly killed old Alfred Cassel." Dobraine stood, and turned away from his wife. Looking out the large window on Cairhien below.

"Don't walk away from me! I can't believe you would do this to me. Over some whore! Do you know what Lady Ailil said to me? 'They'll be putting us in the stocks for having farmers whipped soon!'" she raised her voice in a surprisingly accurate imitation of the Lady, "'dear you must do something about your husband! He is going to break Cairhien apart if he keeps this up!'" Betwyr was mere inches from his face, he could taste her spittle, her delicate brows were drawn up like coiled whips.

He tried another tack, "Betwyr, the Lord Dragon has a weakness for women, all know this, if he returned to find that I had let Orliss and Troyce go, he might well execute me, after having his Aiel track them down and murder them himself."

She slammed her hand down on his desk. He winced, at least one of the orders he had written would have to be redone now.

"He is not a Lord," she separated ever word, "and he is not Cairhienien. You are both, at least, I thought you were when I married you."

"And you would have me join those fools in Haddon Mirk? Rebel? He would crush us in days. You've never seen him channel, you've never seen his rage."

"Be a man, be a lord, be a Cairhienien,"

Dobraine snapped. "I am. I am all three. So quickly you forget. We would all be dead now if it weren't for Al'Thor. The Shaido would have stormed the walls and taken the entire city. We owe him our lives and our freedom, and don't you forget it. It's because of him that Leah isn't eating rats in the alleyways, or serving some Shaido Wise Woman tea, just like those common servants you so despise."

Dobraine made an effort to calm himself. She was the only one who could unhinge him so easily.

"Al'Thor is right Betwyr. Our laws were outdated and unfair. And that prostitute your sick cousin raped and murdered was a Cairhienien too. Do you know what your childhood playmate did to this girl? He probably wooed her with fine words to start. Told her how favoured she would be, maybe he'd take her as a mistress. Then he told her that he and Troyce wanted her at the same time. That she would receive double the favour, that maybe Troyce would take her to Tear. That she could see the world on the arm of a handsome young noble. Then he brought out the hammer and nails. When Troyce grabbed her and gagged her, he told her that this was part of the game. They weren't going to hurt her, just give her so much pleasure that she would break her own bones if her arms and legs were free. So she let them nail in the rings to the base of the bed. She allowed them to tie her firmly in place, naked, spread apart. They took her each once, biting and pinching. She was crying by the end of it, but they calmed her down, told her the pleasure was just beginning, and that she could leave the whorehouse with them and come back to their estates. That's when he took this out."

He held up the sharp flensing knife. Betwyr was silent, face white, hands shaking slightly. He knew he was gilding the lily a bit, but it well could have gone down like this.

"The first cuts were in spots where it wouldn't hurt her that much, her shins, her forearms. She was begging them to stop. They were aroused again, and took her brutally, blood smearing over their bodies, and soaking the mattress."

Betwyr had turned away, silently weeping.

"I won't tell you the rest. But I will say, if they had allowed the girl to live, she would have been horrific to look at. She would have ended her life a beggar, dying of some disease, or starvation. If she did not commit suicide first. I suppose that was one small mercy on their part."

The room was silent, save for Betwyr's sobs, he watched her for a long moment, wondering if he should go to her. He shifted his weight to move, hand unclasping its mate to touch her shoulder when she spoke.

"He twisted my arm once, you know... " she paused to gather herself, "we were playing on a swing, and he was bored. I saw the look in his eye when I cried out. I saw the way he messaged his pants afterward. I pretended not to see, and later that day he was normal again. But, I'll never forget that look." She turned away and made for the door.

There was one last thing that must be said. "By now Lady Berelain will have issued her judgment. I was allowed to recuse myself because of our past affiliation. Both men will likely hang. I'm sorry."

"Leah must not see it. She thinks Orliss is handsome. She was excited to be going to dinner with him."

Dobraine's gut clenched, thankful that he had apprehended the men when he had. The thought of his daughter anywhere near this monster was worse than Dumai's Wells. Betwyr's hand was on the door, her eyes puffy and tearstained. He wanted to ask her, he wanted to ask her about what Orliss had said before Dobraine knocked his teeth in.

"Betwyr..."

She turned to him. He stared back at her, and saw in that tremulous lip the girl he had chased across the ballrooms of Cairhien. He said nothing.

And she left.


	6. Chapter 6

The execution was held the next morning. Orliss wept as he was lead to the hangman's noose, and soiled himself on the platform. Troyce wore a slight smile. The man was indeed a Darkfriend, and he knew he was getting off light. Under questioning Troyce had admitted to the murders, and to a dozen more, admitting to his allegiances proudly. He said that the Great Lord had asked him to do it. That the suffering was pleasing to Him, and that in the next world, in the Fourth Age, girls and boys would be lead to Troyce in bunches, so he could service them similarly.

The commons were filled. News of the murders had spread like wildfire. Silhouette and her girls were in the crowd, solemnly dressed in white cloaks. House Taborwin steel surrounded them, so they would not be poked nor prodded at in their grief. The crowd was raucous, and out for blood. Lady Vrayne was one of theirs, and seeing lords brought low, was always pleasing.

Though Berelain had pronounced the sentence at the Hearing, she was not Cairhienien, and it was up to Dobraine to do the deed.

His voice was a solemn rasp, "by order of the Lord Dragon, Lord Orliss Dagenred, Lord Caymar Troyce, you have been found guilty of violating the new laws of Cairhien, the laws of the Dragon Reborn. The charge was murder and rape, and it has been amply proven and confessed to in front of a magistrate. The sentence is death by hanging." The crowd grew silent, they wanted to hear the snap of the ropes as the men were dropped.

"Don't I get last words?" That was from Troyce, "a chance to express regret and my condolences to the girls' families?"

"No." Dobraine signalled to the executioner. No last exhortations to the Dark One, no last defiance.

The trap doors were released and the men fell. Troyce died instantly, his neck snapping. Too easy a death by half. Orliss swung, his legs jerking, his eyes bulging in fear. He seemed to look for Betwyr, but she was nowhere to be found. His eyes instead found Dobraine, and plead with him desperately. But there was no mercy for him to be found there. In this, the Dragon's will and Dobraine's were one. It seemed to take an hour for the man to die.


	7. Chapter 7

By agreement, Leah and Betwyr would be going home the next day. The commons were still riled, and celebrations in the street were not uncommon. The Dilettante Dove was giving its custom to the commons for free tonight, though lords paid double. The line was around the block. The nobles of Cairhien treaded softly this evening, but tomorrow would be a different story, as the peasant rage faded and was forgotten. But the lords would not forget, and they would not forget Dobraine.

Morganfleed had the cook prepare a host of Leah's favourite foods and pastries. And the little girl was devouring them at the table. His wife was wan, and reserved. Her admonishments to Leah about overeating, and getting hyper from the sugar were almost robotic. Leah was bitterly disappointed to be leaving so suddenly, but the angry crowds frightened her, and after much convincing she had given way on the need to return to the Taborwin estates.

When the time to say farewell arrived, Dobraine suddenly remembered that he had never given his second gift to the young girl. He sent Morganfleed to his study to get the object and wrap it.

As they stood together, father and daughter, wife and husband, Dobraine felt an inexplicable urge to look north, towards the Blight, towards Shayol Ghull. Was the Dark One real? Troyce seemed to think so. And certainly the man was undeniably evil. But Orliss, had he been evil too? No doubt, but no darkfriend. Just a man. Evil enough without Myddraal and Trollocs and whatever else the stories said was coming for them. It made him wonder, if man were so terrible on his own, what need had they for Dragons at all?

Looking at his daughter, he had his answer, of course, it was the Dragon who had seen what was right. What was just. Without that, both Troyce and Orliss would have gone unchecked.

Morganfleed came back down, huffing and puffing.

Leah squealed, "a gift Papa? For me?"

"Of course little one, unwrap it."

Leah went to it with a will, tearing through the colourful paper. Morganfleed gave a mournful sigh as he saw his beautiful, but hurried work of art destroyed by small eager hands.

Unveiled, Leah's soft intake of breath, her face splitting smile, and her ear splitting shriek momentarily erased Dobraine's cares.

"Papa, it's amazing!"

It was a small dancer, wrought in tiny interconnected pieces of steel. It was on a brass base, with a tiny crank coming out. The sides of the base were glass, and within it, a score of small wheels with strange teeth on them.

"Turn the handle, go on" said Dobraine gently.

As if touching something made of the One Power, Leah gently, and with the sort of reverence only a child can command, began to turn the tiny crank. The dancer began to move, swaying above her platform, her arms unclasping and extending, her tiny leg lancing out.

"Oh Papa, it's amazing. Where did you get it?"

"One of the inventors at the School of Cairhien, he makes these to support his inventions, and of course, for his own daughter. You see? Those wheels with the spokes on the outside? They're called gears. Someday soon, when the troubles are all over, I'll bring you to the School, and you can see all the wonderful and strange things that the future holds."

With one last hug, his wife and daughter got into the carriage, and rumbled down the street.


End file.
